Excerpts from a story

Poets write on you, heroes cry of you.
We have come a long way.
Your fragrance still runs through.
What must I do of you?

°

A ponytail, a plaid,
like an old-skool gait;
of nature and of simplicity,
your beauty has said.

°

Oh, wild flower, wild flower!
I know nothing much of you,
but of your beauty, and your smell.
Do I love you? Tell.

°

Neal Ym (Phalguni Y)
July 2016